


Tradition

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Oswald had followed his gaze up, his face falling at the sight of the innocuous sprig hanging above their heads.Oswald and Edward find themselves underneath the mistletoe.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 19
Kudos: 65





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Covid-19 got me. Bit of late Christmas fluff.

Oswald hadn't orchestrated this. He might have daydreamed about it, during a few wistful moments of seasonal idealism, but that was all.

Now he's internally panicking, a rabbit in headlights, enduring the teasing hoots of his tipsy guests as he finds himself caught beneath the mistletoe with Ed.

The party itself had been his idea, but he had planned a classier affair. More tasteful than tacky. The hanging of mistletoe certainly hadn't featured in his plans, and he isn't sure how it came to be here in the first place. When he finds the person responsible, they will either be handsomely compensated or slowly tortured. He hasn't decided which yet.

It all depends on how this plays out. 

Ed is looking just as awkward and trapped as he feels. All they had been trying to do was pass one another through a doorway when Barbara, who happened to be drinking nearby, had squealed loudly about how it was now the mayor's turn to lay on a smacker. Oswald's instantaneous reaction was sneering fury; he had difficulty tolerating that woman at the best of times. Her sense of decorum was woeful, and although she had weedled her way into the guestlist, he would be just as happy to spill her guts out over the opulent, wooden floors.

Then Ed had said, "Oh dear," and Oswald had followed his gaze up, his face falling at the sight of the innocuous sprig hanging above their heads.

And now they're stuck, because Barbara has drawn the attention of too many people, and they're all calling out, watching expectantly for their mayor and his chief of staff to participate in this age-old holiday tradition. A couple of them hold up their phones, ready to snap a photo that will end up splashed all over the tabloids.

Ed looks at him, a silent plea in his eyes, and as much as Oswald's imagination is in overdrive-

_ he yanks Ed down by his tie, swallowing a desperate moan, or Ed takes Oswald's face in those strong hands and leans in to press their lips together, so soft and warm, and Oswald shudders because it's everything he's ever wanted _

-all he can think to do is reach out to lay a hand on Ed's forearm and reassure him.

"We don't have to," he says, an overcompensating smile plastered onto his face. "It's stupid, and these vultures will have forgotten all about it in about thirty seconds."

He hopes it was the right thing to say, but Ed doesn't seem convinced, indecision playing over his features with a transparency that he doesn't usually broadcast. Perhaps he's had a little too much wine.

Then Ed rests a hand on Oswald's shoulder, and he's saying, "It's ok," before he ducks his head, his lips brushing barely-there against Oswald's cheek.

Oswald's eyes widen, his face aflame, his jaw set with tension. Ed's scent fills his nostrils, his hair brushes Oswald's face. He wants to turn his head, just enough to catch Ed's mouth, to taste him for real, because the likelihood is that he will never have this opportunity again.

But it isn't real. It's nothing but a show, a festive obligation, and Oswald cannot afford to let himself forget that. He will end up breaking his own heart if he allows himself to see this for more than it really is.

He's torn between selfishness and self-preservation, and isn't that just always the way?

In a split-second decision, as he feels Ed begin to retreat, he tilts his head to kiss him in the more mutual sense.

Time stops. Ed's lips are just as soft and giving as he's imagined ( _ over and over again _ ). The pressure is almost not there at all, ephemeral, a waking dream. Oswald allows himself the indulgence of closing his eyes, the better to savour this feeling, to store it away in a secret corner of his heart. If he can't have Ed in reality, then at least he can cherish this memory, bring forth its bittersweet company in his loneliest moments.

It's over almost as soon as it begins. Oswald becomes aware of his surroundings again, of Barbara's loud and alcohol-fuelled encouragement from the sidelines, and of the frankly alarming sea of phones that have been whipped out and pointed at them. Most of all, however, he sees Ed, pulled back only a few inches, his eyes wide and a hint of a blush staining his cheeks. His fingers have tightened their grip on Oswald's shoulder, just barely, but Oswald can feel it like he's being branded.

"You…" Ed trails off, the fingers of his free hand coming up to touch his own lips. If Oswald weren't so nervous, he might smirk; a speechless Ed Nygma is a rare and delicious thing.

But after a moment longer of staring, Ed comes back to himself. "You kissed me," he declares, although he poses it as a question, as though trying to establish whether this is reality or not. 

That's a struggle that Oswald can relate to right now. He can't quite believe his own boldness either.

"Yes," he answers. "That's the tradition, is it not?"

"Tradition," Ed repeats, quietly, almost so that Oswald doesn't hear him. "But you… I didn't think…"

"I've made you uncomfortable," Oswald states, belatedly realising his misstep and mentally kicking himself in the teeth for allowing himself to behave so foolishly. "My apologies."

"No," Ed says, refusing to release him when Oswald attempts to retreat. "You said you didn't want to."

It's Oswald's turn to be confused. "I didn't say that. I thought that  _ you _ wouldn't want to."

The tingling impression of Ed's mouth against his own lingers, and Oswald can't help but allow his gaze to flicker down, to look at those pink lips, slightly parted, showing the barest glimmer of teeth. When he looks back up, he could swear that Ed's pupils have dilated behind his lenses.

"I wanted to," Ed says, his voice hardly more than a whisper, and Oswald's heart hammers inside his ribcage.

"So did I," he answers, hating the way he can't keep his own voice level, but it's worth it when Ed's tongue darts out, his Adam's apple bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"So do it properly."

Oswald does not need to be told twice. He pulls Ed in by his lapels, claiming his mouth with a kiss far more meaningful than the last. He's grounded by Ed's trembling hands on his shoulders; without that contact, he suspects he might simply float away on a cloud of bliss. Ed kisses him back with intent, like he's special and worthy, and the feeling is such an overwhelming one that he whimpers. 

That's when Ed breaks away, although he remains within breathing distance. 

"Was that 'proper' enough for you?" Oswald finally asks when he finds his voice and remembers how to form sentences.

But the look Ed gives him is nothing short of predatory. "I think we can do better," he says, and closes the distance between them once again.

Forget trying to do one better, Oswald thinks as he clings to Ed desperately, swept up in the man's very existence; he never wants to let him go.


End file.
